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The two moodles (aka maltipoos) Topsy and Turvy have never once offered to play with Lila (too much brown dog), but she always greets them with exuberance. She loops round and round with delight undaunted by Turvy’s snarl-snap. But Turvy is also a romantic with a fetish when it comes to some of the girls.

And then there’s Alf. A German shepherd-kelpie cross. Built like an elite athlete, he struts across the oval exuding his top dog status. Sometimes he will deign to engage in tug of war with Lila, each grabbing an end of her yellow rubber mallet. But mostly he keeps his eye on the nearby railway. Train spotting is his great passion.

Keltie’s a rescue dog of unknown origins although there’s speculation that she may have some Irish wolfhound mixed with a bit of mastiff. She loves field mice. At least that’s what we believe. We’ve never actually seen them. When she spots one in the long grass woe to the dog who dare stick its snout in her business (Lila learned this the hard way). [read more below]

Ochie and Ngalla also turn up at the oval on a regular basis. Two very clever, high-energy Aussie shepherds. Ochie’s a soft dog which sometimes prompts Lila to overstep the mark. Especially when she’s trying to impress Alf. She’ll pin poor Ochie down and chew on his lush fur until I rush to his rescue.

And there’s Reuben, a Westie-maltese, who doesn’t think twice about his diminutive stature and frolics with the best of them. And Charlie, predominantly Bull Arab, whose explosive energy often overwhelms his owner. Bred to hunt wild boars, socialising at the oval isn’t quite enough excitement for him. And lovely Matilda, a gorgeous old golden retriever whose golden years now glitter.

But Rosie is Lila’s favourite playmate. Part kelpie and more importantly part Lab, she and Lila are on the same wavelength when it comes to rough and tumble (the rougher the better). The two met when Lila was still a pup and Rosie has asserted her authority ever since. Whenever they play, Lila always finds herself ridiculously on her back.

Things don’t tend to get too dull at the oval, but when they do, there’s usually a flock of galas or cockatoos to scatter. And Lila quite happily entertains herself with that.

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This behaviour harks back to a canine history where food was scarce and competition for it fierce.  Not just from other dogs, but all sorts of carnivores. A world with reason to hide uneaten prey before someone else got a whiff of it.  Burying bones and carcasses also made sense in times of bounty.   If there was too much to eat, a dog might save something for leaner times.  And buried meat would naturally age.  [read more below]

Despite the logic behind dogs burying bones, I found myself amazed when I first observed our two-big-meals-a-day-with-lots-of-snacks-in-between Lila doing this in the backyard.  And with such grace and expertise.  Finding just the right spot.   Skillfully digging a hole with her front paws.   Placing the bone at the very bottom.  Shovelling dirt back over it with her snout.  And even tidying up a bit afterwards.

Merriam-Webster defines “instinct” as (1) a natural or inherent aptitude, impulse, or capacity, (2a)  a largely inheritable and unalterable tendency of an organism to make a complex and specific response to environmental stimuli without involving reason and (2b) behaviour that is mediated by reactions below the conscious level.  And that’s all well and good, but I’d like to add (3) knowledge mysteriously passed down through the generations like the most precious of gifts.

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We recently attended an obedience course at the Kintala Club. Training that relies on food not force. Designed to help you and your dog at the end of six weeks pass a ten-task test. And proudly strut away with an Ideal Dogs of Australia certificate (given Lila’s high spirits and selective hearing, the prospect of this had initially seemed remote).

In the video, you will observe our not very polished dress rehearsal (the last session before the dreaded test). We were practicing standard stuff as well as a few handy extras like calmly exiting a car, ignoring a bicycle whizzing past and “mealtime manners”. [read more below]

Of the ten requisite tasks, this last gave us the most trouble. At home, I could put a bowl of food in front of Lila and expect her to “wait”, but in a setting where another dog might possibly get to the food first…well, let’s put it this way:  Lila wasn't taking any chances. I figured if we flunked the test, this would be why.

But they say a bad dress rehearsal foretells a good performance and this held true. On test day, Lila performed brilliantly. With one hitch. And nothing to do with mealtime manners. Instead, she did something unprecedented: she whimpered while left on her own tied to a post.

Thankfully, she was given a second chance at the post and, even more thankfully, another dog barking distracted her from the urge to repeat the offense. We did indeed receive the certificate. And the assessor gave Lila a yummy yellow biscuit in case that wasn’t enough.

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Once she has absconded, the real fun begins. Skirting my clumsy attempts to grab the stolen slipper, by scampering under a table or behind a chair. Sometimes giving the smelly foot leather a defiant shake. Although the slipper eventually returns to its rightful owner, I do sometimes question the meaning of Labrador “retriever”.

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When we arrived, it occurred to me that all the other dogs would know each other and perhaps not welcome a newcomer.  That didn’t faze Lila though.   She trotted off confidently to greet the gang.  Three very large dogs immediately surrounded her. Gulp.  But thankfully only to give her a good sniff.  Before we knew it, everyone had become fast friends and celebrated the holiday by skittering joyfully across the shallows of the bay.

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A bright red wading pool was not our first choice. All the blue ones had sold out. But red seemed to make sense for Christmas. We hid the pool from Lila until Santa could deliver it at the appropriate time. We wanted to surprise her, but her tentative reaction to it surprised us. Lila loves swimming (please see like a duck to water), but appeared baffled by the wading pool being somewhat bigger than her water bowl but much smaller than our dam. [read more below]

With a bit of encouragement, she would gingerly step into the pool for a few moments, but then hop out and wildly circle before stopping abruptly at its edge. The only way we could persuade her to actually enter the water was to drop at the bottom a prized possession: a bone. It took a while for Lila to discover that she could keep her eyes open under water, but when she did, she deftly snatched the bone and took off!

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My friend Anita recently brought over her three-month-old black Labrador Jett.  A first for Lila.   She had never met a dog halfway between tiny and tough.  And because I sometimes wonder if Lila knows her own strength (like when she hurls herself at an elderly neighbour in the hope of an airborne smooch), I thought it best to proceed with caution.   [read more below]

When Jett arrived, naturally Lila was pretty excited and, from time to time, I gently reminded her that Jett was still a baby, which she seemed to understand.  She shared her toys, showed off her crazy loops and occasionally rolled onto her back to let Jett have a turn on top.  They happily tumbled and circled until eventually the heat of the day slowed them down.

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Instead I called Rilten Kennels where our border collie Rosie had happily spent time in years past.   I figured a chat with Philippa (who runs Rilten) might improve my outlook.   Certain that I’d sound overprotective and neurotic, I tentatively explained that Lila had never been boarded, but before I could move on to the next thought, Philippa read my mind:   “Why don’t you bring her here for a day?  That way she’ll understand the routine…that you’re coming back.”   [read more below]

As the day approached, I started scrolling through all the disasters that might befall Lila during her stay.  Maybe she’d contract some dread disease.  What if she escaped and got run over by a car?!?  How would she manage with other dogs without me there to referee?  What if she got too pushy and someone bit her???

Pushy she wasn’t.  When we arrived, she was clearly overwhelmed.  So many unfamiliar dogs.  All barking.  Loudly and simultaneously.  Nevertheless, I turned my back on her and pretended to casually stroll away.  Until a terrible sound came from behind.   A sound  I imagined coming from a Lila so distressed as to be unrecognisable.  I had to ask, “Was that Lila?!?”  “Noooo, a staffie yodeling,” replied Philippa, wryly adding, “She couldn’t have produced a sound like that even if she’d tried.”  Oh.

Even though Lila’s initiation was to last a mere eight hours, I couldn’t help phoning after four (not that I was counting).   She was fine.   And by the time I collected her at the end of day, she looked like she owned the place.  Head up tail wagging.  Not the least bit worried.  Pleased to see me but not desperately so.  And I had a chance to meet some of her new friends (and one enemy).   When I suggested we go home for dinner, Lila pretended not to hear.  She had better things to do.  A few more scents to sniff. 

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Nevertheless, I spend winters here fantasising about visiting the snow…but not quite getting there.   When Lila entered our lives, the incentive grew stronger.   I felt that, as a Labrador, she needed snow.   She has snow genes.  So I started investigating snowy places that would allow dogs.  The options were few.  And eventually spring started to feel like summer and I’d pretty much given up. 

But then a miracle happened:  Mother Nature took a freakish turn and dumped about six inches of the white stuff on nearby hills.  No one could believe it.   This much snow isn’t supposed to happen around here.  Not at any time of year.   I rang a hilltop pub to confirm the rumour.  An awestruck publican said yes it was true, but warned that the roads were closed.   Undaunted, I packed up Lila, picked up my adventurous friend Helen and her seven-year-old border collie-kelpie cross Wilkie, and made plans to sneak up to the snow.  [read more below]

By the time we had tried and failed to go the “back way”, the main roads had reopened.  We drove onward and upward like a couple of tourists.  Pointing and gasping at sights never before seen.  Snowy this snowy that.   We even spotted some camels standing motionless and bewildered in a changed landscape.  With their two heads wedged between the front seats, the dogs wondered what all the fuss was about.  Whatever it was, it had to be good.

When we reached the highest, snowiest spot, we  parked the car.  Wilkie being a bit more mature and reliable was allowed off lead.  But we were too close to a road for my comfort so Lila remained on while she excitedly zigzagged over slippery ground with no regard for the ungainly biped on the other end of the lead.   But we all had fun.  Wilkie played catch with snowballs that mysteriously crumbled in her jaws.  And Lila…well, she’s a Labrador, isn’t she?   She swallowed cold clumps of snow in greedy gulps.   Last but not least, the nose and ears of Helen’s cleverly crafted snow dog.

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The two girls had not seen each other since their first meeting, but if Lila was surprised by Jass’s enormously changed appearance, she did not show it.  They eagerly reunited and celebrated with a frolic in the surf.  We two humans tagged along talking mostly dogs, with the brisk wind biting our cheeks.   And even though the sun slipped in and out of the clouds, we had the ocean to ourselves.  

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The other morning Lila and I wandered up the slope behind our house to watch the rustred tips of dawn creep across the horizon.   A delicate display accompanied by birdsong.   Most noteworthy the cackle of kookaburras.  A sound akin to the call of a jungle primate.  Staccato and throaty.  Often performed as a chorus with each family member singing a part.  A daybreak distinctively Australian.  [read more below]

As someone who has lived most of her adult life in big cities with hidden sky and soot-stained pigeons, I am acutely aware of the magic of such moments.  And, although Lila has always been a country dog, I get the feeling she senses this, too.   So in the dark we sat quietly on our dewy hilltop, gently and surely conveyed to the start of a new day.

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When she’s not sneaking into a bedroom to steal some dirty underwear or a stray sock (the smellier the better), she’s on her hind legs at the kitchen sink licking the last scrap from a dinner plate.   She seems to break rules out of boredom, but keeping Lila entertained indoors can be mentally draining.  And Phil and I run out of bright ideas long before Lila does.  [read more below]

That’s when we fall back on the great outdoors.   Go for a bike ride, for example.  We are blessed with a very long driveway where Lila can trot alongside the bike off lead. Initially, she seized this as an opportunity to snap at the rotating front tyre.   Not the safest game to play so we needed to establish some ground rules. 

Now Lila knows better, but sometimes craves a little extra excitement and succumbs to the whirling temptation.   Given a gruff reminder, however, she’ll divert herself by happily toting a horse’s “jolly ball” in her super strong jaws.   A bouncing red toy twice the size of her head.  She has begun to grasp the meaning of compromise.  A sure sign she's growing up.

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We recently revisited the same market.  With Lila fully grown and making her way around on her own four feet.  Except when two would occasionally leave the ground to greet a passerby.   She took in all the sights (and smells) from oranges and cakes to pot plants and toy monkeys.  And introduced herself to members of the Country Fire Authority and canine market goers whenever she got the chance.  [read more below]

Her sometimes overly enthusiastic g’days aside, she coped very well with the spectacle.  Curious and happy to be amongst the crowd.  The only thing that got her hackles up was some ponies.  Furry little beasts with the familiar scent of horses, but looking like something else.   Creatures disconcerting enough to spark a barking frenzy…the very moment that Lila suddenly found herself no longer welcome.

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Last week I took our Labrador Lila to meet the farrier.  I thought it might broaden her horizons.  She could see what some humans do for a living.  Learn about equine podiatry.  Take in some country air.  Whatever.  I hadn’t considered that, once given a taste of Lily’s toe, nothing else would matter.  Her scope would narrow to hoof, hoof, hoof and more hoof.  [read more below] 

In those rare moments when she wasn’t scavenging for trimmings (creeping on her belly to sneak yet another piece), Lila did have a little poke around.  Usually at the wrong time in the wrong place.  Too close to a red-hot shoe.   Too tempted by a tin box full of nails.  And too eager to snatch Lily’s long-suffering muzzle.  Leaving me in the unfortunate role of killjoy.

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One of the first surprises of Lila’s puppyhood was her outsized bark.  Even though she was still tiny, she produced a sound deep and robust.  It should have been coming from a much larger dog.  And now that she’s a fully-grown but not particularly big Labrador, her bark continues to exceed expectations.  

When the telephone man recently turned up on our property, he looked around uneasily for the monstrous dog sounding off somewhere out of sight.  I assured him that he would not be mauled and to please feel free to go about his business.   I could see he wasn’t convinced.  [read more below]

I’ve always considered Labradors a quiet breed, but Lila flaunts her fierce voice with great regularity.  Any excuse will do:  A magpie landing.  A kangaroo hopping.  The wind blowing a door shut.   Or even more disturbing, a neighbour's dog barking.  The time of day (or night) irrelevant.

Whatever the occasion, Lila throws her head back (the better to telegraph the news) and barks her very big bark.   Preferably positioned on our veranda where she can scan the horizon for trouble spots.   If I come out to investigate, she will rush over and push me with her front paws hoping to elicit some assistance.   I usually tell her not to worry and disappear back into the house.

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A rowdy gang perches beyond Lila’s reach.  Screeching loudly and taunting her with unfurled sulphur crests and lifted wings.   Lila stands on tiptoe with front paws high on the tree trunk.  Snout up up up.   Stretching towards that first branch.  Wagging her tail, but barking with frustration.  And the cockatoos squawk:  Silly dog.  You can’t climb a tree.  Or fly.

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Ever since Lila came to us at eight weeks of age I’ve had my eye on this toy duck.  A nearly life-sized plush duck that quacks.  Given Lila’s destructive streak, for months I restrained myself from buying one.  But as her first birthday approached, I thought the time might finally be right and I placed an order.

The toy took ages to arrive, but when it did, neither Phil nor I could make it quack.  We poked and prodded all its body parts, but mute it remained.  It seemed we’d bought a dud duck.   When I called the shop to arrange an exchange, it emerged that our duck was not a dud, but merely a delicate creature…vocalising only in response to just the right touch.  Oh well.  Lila’s clever.  Surely she’d figure it out (even if we hadn’t).  [read more below]

So on the morning of her first birthday, we presented her with the coveted duck.  Wrapped in bright yellow.   When we squeezed its plump belly, the harsh sound startled her.   But Lila’s a brave dog as well as a clever one and promptly wrapped her jaws around its limp neck, shook it violently and, to my horror, set about plucking its fuzzy feathers.  Despite all that, she did indeed manage to make it quack.

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I do TRY however and have recently started taking our Labrador Lila to a second round of obedience training.  The first round occurred when she was only five months’ old, which gave me the convenient excuse of her being too young.  Now that she’s approaching her first birthday, I can claim that her bad habits are hard to break because she’s too old…  [read more below]

The biggest challenge with Lila is the recall.  Our instructor teaches handlers to first call their dogs on lead.  And then off.  The tricky part is that initially the lead is not all the way off.   Just dropped on the ground and dangling from her collar.  Tempting Lila to grab it and run.  If there’s any distance between us when this occurs, I don’t stand a chance at correcting it.  And she celebrates with a triumphant dance.

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When two dogs of the same breed meet, there seems to me to be a spark of recognition:  “Hey, it looks like we’ve got a few things in common!”  Maybe it’s their shape or scent or some subtle behavioural trait, but more often than not they fall into a cozy routine.  [read more below] 

A week or so ago, seven-year-old Labrador Black Jack paid us a visit.  Lila greeted him as if he were her long-lost cousin.   And Jack, despite Lila’s youthful exuberance, ambled around as if he had known her all his life.  Very casual and comfortable.  And, in contrast to Lila, dignified! 

There was nothing exceptional about this first meeting except how ordinary it was.   Two strangers uncovering a mutual understanding.  And simply enjoying each other’s company.

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